A License To Kill
~= A License To Kill Johan Kristensen was always destined to become the skilled assassin he is today; born into the family of other notorious wanted families, he's been trained all his life, and he's damn good at his job. Now, he's been given a pretty big mission, the biggest he's ever done. His client wants over seventy people dead before the summer ends, inconspicuously and silently. The pay is worth it, but it's too many in too little time, even for Johan. So, he decides to enlist the help of the one and only Celaena Sardothien. |-| 1= “So, let me get this straight,” Johan repeated, disbelief coating the words he could have sworn the suited man had just spoken. “You want seventy eight people dead by the thirty-first of this month?” “That is what I am requesting,” the suited person replied, cloaked in shadows from the dim lighting of the office. His silver lips merely parted as the words slipped out, voice as oily as the slicked-back mop of ebony hair upon his slender head. Shadows had snuck into the hollows of his face and exaggerated the gauntness of his cheeks, whilst also partly concealing his eyes, though the striking glimmer of cornflower blue penetrated the darkness and shone down the room. The suit, crisp and creaseless, sat perfectly on his angular body; the sharpness of his joints, where his neck joined his shoulders and his shoulders fell to his arms, lacked the curves most human bodies possess. “I’ve heard of your family, your profession. You’re apparently one of the best money can buy.” “I’m not denying that,” he said calmly, knowing it was true. He was a Kristensen – of course he was damn good. “Then I trust you with this job. You give me the heads of these traitors, and I hand over your payment.” Johan could practically see each word slither out of his client’s mouth and drip off the corner of the desk; his tongue flicked at the end of each word, and he elongated each ‘s’, like a snake. “It’s a simple enough task.” “Killing your subjects is a simple task. But completing the task by the end of summer? The possibility is slim,” Johan told him, struggling to not be distracted by the slightly malicious-looking smile on his client’s lips. “A sudden disappearance of over seventy people in a span of two weeks? No matter how much I cover my tracks, there is no chance it will go unnoticed.” “I have no interest whether it goes unnoticed or not, as long as the deed is done,” the man almost snapped, then leaned back in his chair wearing a not-so-apologetic smile. “Their relatives are of no concern.” Johan contemplated it for a minute, the gears turning in his head. The pay was good – it was excellent, really. But whether it was worth potentially blowing his identity and revealing his whereabouts for was another matter entirely. Such a sudden mass disappearance was bound to rouse suspicion, with children waiting for the return of their father and never seeing them, and wives waiting to go out with their husbands and instead having to report them missing. It would make the news, and the television. But still, Johan needed the pay. There’d been a lack of larger jobs with larger salaries for the past few months, and he’d been running low on coins. Plus it would really prove the Kristensen name; if it reached the businessmen that a young assassin had pulled off such a big job successfully, the offers would start rolling in. He leant across the desk, extending his arm. “You have a deal.” The client grinned a triumphant grin and shook Johan’s hand, his fingers cold and his nails sharp and pointed. “Good, Mr Kristensen. I expect the heads of all the targets by the thirty-first of August, with the bodies disposed of and your tracks concealed, and I shall give you your pay.” Johan nodded in agreement, and rose from his chair, still distracted by the aura of unease surrounding this guy. Apparently he was a client of Johan’s father, Marius, who was currently hunting down some dark witch in Africa. Henrik and Saxbjǫrn were in Switzerland killing some corrupt priest, and he didn’t know where the hell Nickolai was. Johan hadn’t heard from Nick in over three months. From outside, the building looked as plain and as shoebox-like as its neigbours, all huddled together from the cold. The alley was dark as the sun descended down below the horizon, casting the world into shadow. As he walked, his options whirred around his head: he could either draw one of his brothers from their missions (even though they’d probably kill him), complete the mission alone, or ally with another assassin. He knew plenty of assassins from the marketplace, but he didn’t trust any of them to even watch his back as he went in for another kill.